


i can hold my own when i feel at home

by firelordazulas



Category: Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: F/F, afab danceny who's a massive lesbian and doesnt believe in gender, anyway basically i wanted 2 give these characters smth of a happier end, it's basically a modern au but the time period rly isnt important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordazulas/pseuds/firelordazulas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To begin with, you find Cecile endlessly irritating, in particular her endless amounts of wide eyed naivety that you find wearying. There is nothing more pervasively annoying than a young girl who does not know when to sit down and shut up. But then Cecile almost seems to come into her own. She gets curious, and attentive, and seems to thrive off the attention you deign to bestow upon her and there is nothing you enjoy so much as young girls being so adorably thankful. Cecile is the first girl of her age you have ever bothered with, but you do not think she will be the last if the game continues to play and thrive as it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can hold my own when i feel at home

Cecile de Volanges was supposed to be just a bit of fun. There’s nothing to her, an absence of wit or cleverness that comes from a life cloistered away with nuns, and you take her on as protege as an amusing project for the slow season. You convince her to trust you with little effort. To begin with, you find her endlessly irritating, in particular her endless amounts of wide eyed naivety that you find wearying. There is nothing more pervasively annoying than a young girl who does not know when to sit down and shut up. She seems ridiculously unaware of her own attractiveness, of the pretty face and perfect hair and young body that make her a hot commodity among both her peers and the friends that her mother shows her off to - not that the Madame de Volanges would like anyone to say that about her obvious attempts to marry her daughter off. But then Cecile almost seems to come into her own. She gets curious, and attentive, and seems to thrive off the attention you deign to bestow upon her and there is nothing you enjoy so much as young girls being so adorably thankful. Cecile is the first girl of her age you have ever bothered with, but you do not think she will be the last if the game continues to play and thrive as it is.   
You have not realised the feelings stirring within the young girl and curse your blindness. It takes a quiet, tired confession that Cecile wishes you were Danceny, and the answering burn of agreement - you wish you could teach this girl everything you know, that you could kiss her and stroke her hair as more than just her mentor - for you to realise that you desire her. She is not the first woman you have been with, but she is the first who you have pursued - for you realise that you have, even as you have been recruiting Valmont to do the job for you. This game you have been playing has its own bite. 

The first time she kisses you, you believe that she does not know what she is doing. It is a misplaced affection from a young girl who does not yet know how to show appreciation, who does not understand the connotations of that which she does. Until you are introduced to Danceny, her music teacher, the one she’s always sending letters to in what you’d assumed was a cute but childish flirtation. While you are sure that the pairs dabbles are still young and naive, the Danceny fellow is not what you are expecting - for it’s a Miss Danceny, not a mister, and you finally realise that the poor, young Cecile has been trying to tell you for weeks about her fondness for the company of women. That which you’d written off as a form of hero worship, as misplaced adoration, is maybe actually genuine. You feel drawn to her as never before. 

As the couple, who are too scared to even hold hands in that young, girlish way that you ridicule but perhaps long for, grow to trust you and include you in their confidences, you find your fascination with the both of them increasing. To be the centre of so much adoration, for their love for each other and also for you to circle and entrance you. It is an odd thing for you to be held by the power of love, for it to reach inside you and hold you in place. It is a thing you have not felt for years - and perhaps it’s not love. Perhaps it’s just how utterly infatuated with you the two of them are. But it’s close to being enough for you. You hadn’t expected to be held hostage by how pure their feelings are - it’s not something you think you’ve ever much wanted, or so you tell yourself. Honest love was never yours to have - to be successful and happy, one must rely on the love of others, rather than that of your own - but then isn’t this the sort of love you thrive on, their for you? Is this not the most perfect of arrangements? You can while away your time on your petty deceits and schemes while their earnest and unwavering love awaits whenever you wish to beckon it forth. 

 

You tell her, “Only flirt with those you are not interested in. You will gain a reputation, but none will believe anything has truly happened between you and any paramours.”  
She replies, eyes shyly fluttering under her lashes, “You never flirt with me?” It’s part question, part accusation, but most important of all, it is not the expected response.   
“Well. Would you like if I did?” Your voice is purposefully pitched lower than the usual tone you take with her, eyes half-shuttered.

She blushes deeply, giggles nervously, and changes the subject. “So, erm, what are your other rules?”

You tip your head to the side and regard her quietly. Cecile is still blushing, and fidgeting with her hands, and you decide to leave her like this, to let her stew in the feelings she’s obviously quickly realising. “Oh, my dear, I’ll tell you next time. I have to go I’m afraid.” She stammers an argument but you stand without a word. Two lingering kisses, one to each of her hot cheeks, and then you’re out the door. As soon as you’re out of sight you chuckle deeply to yourself: the girl doesn’t even realise how deeply she’s fallen into the trap you’ve just become aware you were setting. 

 

Danceny makes a strange and slightly comical bid for your affection with long and verbose monologues on the depth of her feeling for Cecile. That’s all the two of you speak of: how much you both admire and love the dearest Mademoiselle de Volanges, and it is through this vehicle that you get to know one another. Quite opposite to your usual tastes, Danceny is fond of waxing lyrical with a frankly absurd obsession with metaphor and simile - she stands there, with her shaved hair and too big blazer that’s supposed to make her look older, and attempts to woo you without knowing that she’s doing it. The girl is lanky and awkward and all sharp-edges, and these imperfections of hers make her appeal all the more to you. She’s discreet and well-received in society which is enough of a reference for you to be sure a dalliance would be safe. Your first kiss from her is all you, with the poor, unsuspecting girl quite unable to breathe as you press your lips together in the finest of seductions - her, pressed against the wall, you, also known as the attacker, pressing down on her from your advantageous height. It’s a good kiss, as first kisses go. You enjoy the feel of her shaved nape. 

 

Not even a week later, you are alone with Cecile - you’d accuse the two of them of colluding, the only possible way to have pulled it off so splendidly, but you know they aren’t capable of it. She kisses you, which is perhaps the biggest surprise of the entire seduction. Oh, you’d planned it, you’d egged her on, you’d laid the path, but for her to actually take the opportunity… There were many hidden depths to this girl. Surprises you had yet to tease out of her. Danceny is still naive and innocent, but Cecile is ready to learn, to be taken under your wing fully and corrupted. You can’t decide if you want Danceny to have the first go, or if the three of you should embark on an relationship, together from the start. You don’t know if they even want that sort of arrangement with you. 

They write you letters. The papers are full of their devotion to you, their wanting of you to be their dearest friend, the deepest longings of their hearts, but they still don’t quite understand the asking. And so you cleverly engineer an opportunity to be alone in a room together. The happy couple are shy and quiet after the rush of meeting, the passionate grasping of hands in the doorway of the music room you’ve secreted yourself into. Danceny presses a kiss to Cecile’s hands, presses those hands to a cheek in some sweet promise - both their cheeks are red with the blush of a young girl’s first love. They seem lost within the others eyes, just looking, and you ready yourself to slip out unnoticed (you are disappointed but actively convincing yourself it means nothing.) Suddenly, Cecile tugs a hand free and holds it out to you.

“Come, please, take my hand. I feel such a dreadful need for you to hold me.”

And, powerless, you join the two almost-lovers. The three of you stand close, so close, and Cecile’s eyes are on you as she kisses Danceny for the first time. Your hands are upon their waists as they push closer to each other, until suddenly they’re pulling you to them with grasping fingers and leaving kisses all upon your face. The innocence and sheer absurdity makes you laugh, loud and long, before drawing Cecile close to kiss the all-too pleased look from her face.

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is so messy but in my defence it's like a getting to know the characters and what i want 2 do with them type of fic so hopefully whatever i write in the future wont be so ,,, everywhere. anyway, enjoy or w/e i guess ! 
> 
> title from broods - conscious


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